Time Is On My Side
by lita4277
Summary: The Moment Happy Met Quinn


There is a point when it all just becomes a blur. One long smear of highway, nothing stands out anymore, just the incessant need to keep moving. It's no longer rational thought; it is pure and fueled by 100% anger.

Thing is sometimes you just have to walk away and let shit pan out like it should, no matter how bad a taste it leaves in your mouth. No matter how bad you itch to put your fist or pistol in the middle of the problem. So that's what he did, road away.

Three days he had been on the road, three days of the same clothes, the same comfort of the beast he road. It was the third sunrise and it fucking hurt like a bitch, his eyes were to the glued open point, his hands and arms no longer a part of him, and his ass had fell off about 1000 miles ago. But he was here, all the way, here.

And here was all the way across the country from Arizona, fuck my life….every time, it happens every fucking time. Ya just get settled in and get shit rollin your way and it all just goes to hell…

Time, time to find a place to sleep for a few days, time to let the road turn him loose for a while. Time to get a fucking shower or three, time to find a dark corner in a bar and drink till he couldn't think, couldn't see.

Faces and new places that had been the story of his life for all the years since he got out of Special Forces, never felt like he fit in anywhere. He had to admit he had not actually felt safe one single night since he got out. He sometimes thought he was losing his mind.

So he sat in the Florida bar and just watched the world go by for a few days. Every once in a while he would hear the roar of a Harley or two, but he never ran into whoever they were. The itch was back.

"Fuckin god dammit to hell! He screamed into the dark waters of the bay, all this accomplished was to scare those big white fucking birds. He had to find some where he could let down his guard, take a deep breath without wondering who was gonna be behind him to dig in a knife in his ribs.

"Fine, all God Damn right, I'm fucking goin!" he said to the itch. So he packed his saddle bags, paid up his tab and hit the road again. His face had become an unreadable scowl, matching the ever growing collection of dark ink that snaked its way across his body. Nothing seemed to be right, nothing was right. He was a driven man and did not know where the road was taking him just that it was fucking long and his ass hurt again…

Four days this time, across the country, one night at a rest stop and on he moved. Up the west coast, up highway 101, at 55 fucking miles an hour, but it was worth it. He stopped to just look at the ocean. The way the waves broke on the rocks on the northern California coast, off again when the stench of the sea lions hit him, and On into Oregon. Stopping and eating at the little mom n pop crab shacks that dotted the highway.

Washington state and still the fucking itch! What is it with this shit! On to Tacoma, he had a buddy in the Army who lived around here somewhere. He felt the need for a cold beer or three, so he cruised into an area where it felt better.

Better, what the fuck? Better. Better had not been well there for a long time, He spotted a bar, his kinda place. In the parking lot was a couple of bikes, things were lookin up. They were all blacked out like his, it made him grin, just a little bit, but fuck that was somethin….

Now just what was it about this situation that made him feel better, fuck if he could put a finger on it or in it, and that reminded him, time he got his dick sucked.

He parked and just sat there for a minute, enjoying the feeling of things on the way to OK, cause that shit right there never lasted for very long. He could hear the thump of the music from out here. Had a nice feel to it, reminded him of days gone by. He swung one leg over his bike and lit a smoke.

He flicked the butt of his smoke off into the gravel, and thought, fuck, shit won't burn here too goddamn wet. He stood up and felt his back pop back into place. Shit I sure as hell don't want to be on the road for a week or two. He thought about the money he still had left. A couple grand would last him a good while, after all it paid to be mindful off unnecessary spending. It didn't take much for him to get by.

He walked up to the bar door and just stopped, he had a feeling, not one he was used to in the least. He just had all the hair on his body stand up! Something was headed his way! He jerked open the door only to be met by a fuckin huge guy flying backwards at him. He had no way or time to move. He found himself on his ass with a man in his lap.

He shoved the guy off and was ready to defend himself, the big guy let out an earth shattering roar!"HAPPY WHERE THE FUCK YA BEEN? LET'S GO KICK ASS!" And not being one to turn down a good fight, in he went, right behind the wall of leather that was the big guys back.

All he could see was the reaper on the back of the cut, and then the shit hit the fan. Life was good, bustin heads and movin on to the next asshole. He had waded through the whole room and found himself at the bar and thought to himself, don't mind if I do. The bartender just slammed a beer down and grinned at him. Happy grinned back and the lady behind the bar took a step back, shit he thought did I fuckin forget how to grin?

He downed the cold beer and said," thanks doll" and waded right back into the fight. There wasn't much left to do, the big guy had two after him and Happy stopped for a moment and just watched the big guy in motion, He watched as he ran them into each other and dropped them to the floor.

Fuck, it's fuckin Quinn! He was wrapped in a hug and Quinn hollered "welcome home brother!"


End file.
